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Accepting the many versions of ourselves
As middle age deepens we have to acknowledge that hair might fall, children will fly, jobs might be lost and that we’re imperfect
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You appreciate there are many versions of ourselves through time and this is just the latest.
PHOTO: PEXELS
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In the evening, tied to my book in the silence, sometimes my hand moves involuntarily. Starting with the frontal bone, it runs over the parietal bone and to the occipital bone. If you’re unfamiliar with this skeletal territory, be grateful. I am talking about my skull. It is absent of hair and I often wonder where it went.
It’s not that baldness reminds me of annoying uncles and skinheads. Or that it has often indicated punishment. It’s not even that I’ll never be as imperiously beautiful as Imperator Furiosa or as remotely holy as the Dalai Lama. It’s just that it isn’t me.
